


A True Work Of Art

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: I’d Know You No Matter Who We Were [2]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Admire from afar, Alternate Universe, Artists, Crushes, M/M, Pose Nude, Sexual Tension, Still life, paintings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 22:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Tom struggles to keep his emotions in order when, a new and cocky man volunteers to pose nude for him.





	A True Work Of Art

**Author's Note:**

> (Slight) _Top Gun _AU. Although, this could also just be what Ice and Mav get up too inc their spare time.__

Tom took his usual seat, not quite at the front, to the left of the vacant sofa placed in the middle of the circle. He was surrounded by a bunch of fellow artists, ranging from lots of women with Cyndi Lauper hair and Madonna lace upon lace, to lots of men decked out in vibrant jackets, patterned shirts and hair that was spiked in all directions.

Sometimes he did feel like an outsider as he wasn’t one to express his creativity on such a level. He stripped himself of his bomber jacket, to unveil a paint splattered denim shirt and white vest that clung tight to his lean figure. He hadn’t felt like spending hours on his hair today so, he let his blonde locks flow any which way they wanted. He rolled up his sleeves, ran a hand through his hair, knocked his earring and cursed. Then, he composed himself.

The art class were getting another go at still life today and Tom was always the one to beat in terms of accuracy and precision. His pieces were flawless, they were admired by all. It wasn’t routine, they varied each time but Tom put the others students to shame.

He laid out his pencils and brushes on one side and took in the sight of the dark red, plush sofa. He began twirling a pencil; warming up his nimble fingers and wrist. He heard voices, and a not so subtle strut as the muse walked in. Tom wasn’t looking, eyes now planted firmly on his canvas.

The muse removed the dressing gown and took a seat. It took a few moments for the position to be decided, and was sprawled across the sofa. There was a blanket and pillows for modesty but, the model didn’t seem to be having any of it.

Tom heard the rustling of other chairs, his fellow classmates finding the best viewing angle. It was then that he saw him. He dropped his pencil.

It was a man before them, stretched out long and lean on his right side. He had a hand behind his head, his other in front of his chest. He had beautifully tanned shoulders, his muscles were rippling as he shifted some, then relaxed as he found his spot. He had defined pecs and a toned chest and wore a chain that hung between his clavicle. He had a small trail of brown hair that disappeared under a small, pink blanket. It was carelessly draped over his hips, low down that his hip bones could still be seen. He rolled his hips forward so, he had one thigh in front of the other which meant to Tom, the blanket clung perfectly to his little bottom. He had muscular legs, with an even tan the whole way down.

Tom was stunned. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his pencil until it was handed back to him, after a few unsuccessful attempts at getting his attention.

His eyes roamed all over the figure before him, up and down, up and down. Tom took in a deep breath, steadied himself, and began with his outline.

The man had a beautiful smile. It was all natural, not at all forced. It showed off his teeth, the corners of his lips curving upwards so high that his whole face creased up. His eyes were a mix of green, they twinkled in the light like emeralds, and amber. His piercing gaze lit up his whole complexion. His jaw was refined, not too strong, but cast a lovely shadow down his neck, over the slump of his shoulders. His adams- apple bobbed every now and then and he had a vein that stuck out on the right side of his exposed neck. His neck was stretched long, as he held his head so high, high enough that he’d surely feel the strain in no time.

Tom couldn’t focus. After numerous unsuccessful attempts of getting his outlines and proportions correct he puzzled over what details he’d missed. There was something about the tops of his muscular thighs, the trail of hair on his lower stomach and- the blanket. That’s what was wrong. The tents, the ripples in the fabric, the way it clung to his well defined frame- was all wrong.

He rubbed away his pencil lines and traced back over them. His hazel eyes on the man before him the entire time. The pencil stilled in his grasp. He looked down, back to the canvas and sighed. He shook his head, abandoning his pencil on the easel before him.

Tom knew he was blushing. He felt his cheeks heat in what could’ve been frustration, but it wasn’t frustration alone. The man before him, was alluring; his was stance too open and inviting. His body sang of cockiness in every way. Tom couldn’t help himself. He ran a shaky hand through his blonde hair and tried to regain his cool composure.

He took the pencil in hand again, his fingers clutched to it tight. He leant forward, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, to solely concentrate on the man’s hips that he couldn’t quite grasp. He cast his gaze back to the model and had found, that he’d moved. Nothing obvious but, his eyes had moved in his sockets. His eyes, green and wide, had locked onto Tom. His gaze didn’t waver, the man didn’t flinch. Tom was sure, that his grin had become more pronounced, his teeth bared and his cheekbones were highlighted. He was staring Tom down. A stare that spoke volumes, and contradicted the innocence of the huge grin that coated his handsome face.

He winked. Tom jumped.

Two hours in, and Tom had delved deep into his pastels. He began with the lighter shades, to over line the defined muscles and contours of the model’s body. He worked into the piece, layer upon layer, fingers smoothing out the remnants of pastel he left behind. Tom’s fingers lingered, they hovered above the blanket he’d drawn. He took hold of one side of the canvas, the other descended to the outline, the tents and grooves. He tried to be quick about it but he couldn’t help himself. He took his sweet time, adding extra layers and shade, nimble fingers rubbing in circles right over the man’s concealed and restriction crotch. Tom flushed again.

As for the man’s strong chest, Tom meticulously added layer upon layer, full of contour and definition but he wasn’t satisfied. He turned back to his model who again, winked. It was fast but it surely wasn’t subtle.

Tom abandoned the chest, and took to his face.

His smile was incredible, Tom had captured his beauty in the only way he knew how: with his graceful fingers, with all the attention and detail that he could give. Tom smiled to himself and looked to the clock. He didn’t have much longer until the session would be over.

The final touches were made, with white pastels to highlight the way the light danced off of the body, blacks to define the grooves of his hips, the individual hairs on his head. What lay beneath the blanket. Tom’s hand hovered over his artwork, as he reached for a gold crayon. He added the tints to the man’s chain, it glistened against his tanned skin.

Time was up. The man stretched, yawned and slowly got to his feet. His hang clutched to the fabric around his waist, but it was a loose hold. He rotated bodily to the left, as he spoke to the woman running the class, she offered him back his dressing gown. He clutched the blanket but, he let Tom have a show. It wasn’t much but the shadow; the groove of his hips, the curve of his lower abdomen… Tom had seen enough. He turned away and shook his head, a smile graced his lips.

Turning back and he hadn’t even noticed that the man was stood next to him, covered up with his arms folded. He was admiring Tom’s handy work and has been talking to him about it. The man’s reached out, his hands traced the lines of the canvas and he spoke.

Tom didn’t hear a thing. His eyes stayed firmly on the man’s grinning face, the movement of his lips, the glint in his eyes.

“… you’re incredibly talented.”

Tom was snatched from his daze. He sputtered something unintelligible and the man grinned at him.

“Perhaps I’ll do this again sometime.” His tones dropped in desire. He winked at Tom; the flush in Tom’s face. The man cocked his head, his eyes roamed all over Tom’s body. His widened eyes and parted lips, down his toned chest, his nimble figures, hid tanned arms.

The tent in Tom’s jeans.

The man didn’t say another word. He brushed past Tom, a hand clapped his shoulder as he gave him a final stare. He winked, with the same smile as Tom had drawn. He began to strut away, his rounded bottom was perfectly highlighted. At the door the man turned back, strands of dark brown hair had fallen into his eyes. He crooked his finger, eyes firmly on Tom.

Tom knew what that look meant. He hastily grabbed his things, abandoning his canvas, and slid into his bomber jacket and followed after him. He was lured by his charm, his strength and his dominating aura. Tom didn’t look back.


End file.
